


Blistered

by NerdsbianHokie



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Backstory, Depictions of injury, Homophobia, Homophobic Slurs, comic based
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9809327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdsbianHokie/pseuds/NerdsbianHokie
Summary: "It hit 110 that day...Finally beat the door with a shovel.  Blistered my palms until the latch popped off."Comic based backstory for Maggie.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I made a post on Tumblr about how it's ridiculous that they haven't given Maggie any real backstory yet, given that the character of Maggie Sawyer has existed for 30 years in the comics. Then, I was going through some drafts and found this mostly finished.
> 
> It is based on a panel from Batwoman vol. 3, where Maggie describes being locked in a shed on a 100+ day. I've included the panel in the end note.

Maggie wrapped her arms around herself.  Her fingers grasped at the fabric of her shirt, her arm and stomach clung together where the shirt was ripped.  The humidity of the day still hung in the dark sky, taking the place of the sweat her body had run out of ages ago.

Her head ached from the pain in her shoulders, and the heat of the day, and the echo of her own screams bouncing off metal walls.

She clenched her fists around handfuls of her shirt.  She cringed and let out a pained gasp as her fingers pressed the fabric into the open blisters on her palms.  She relaxed her hands, gingerly holding them against her sides, only to do the same thing a few minutes later.

Again and again she clenched and relaxed her hands.  The pain drove away any thought that tried to worm its way into her mind.

Like the lingering taunts that rang in her ears.

Or the ghost of sweat rolling down her back.

Or the knowledge that…

Clench.

Pain.

Relax.

She limped down the street, head bowed and shoulders hunched.  Sharp pain ran up her leg every few steps.  She was pretty sure it wasn’t broken.  Like, 95 percent sure.

73 percent sure.

22 percent sure.

She failed to notice the sidewalk dipping into a driveway.  The unexpected change made her stumble.  The increase in the pain made her choke back a cry.  The way the world twisted around her made her reach for the nearest street lamp.

Okay.  It was probably broken.  Fractured, at least.  It felt like her arm had when she fell out of the tree a few years back.

She turned the corner onto her road and scanned the area.

The flickering street lamp a few blocks down.  The cars parked on the side of the road.  The multiple sprinkler systems running.

She curled further into herself, torn between watching the sidewalk in front of her feet, and constantly looking around her, keeping an eye out from them.

Half expecting them to jump out from behind the cars in the church parking lot.

Half expecting them to climb over white picket fences.

Half expecting them to appear out of thin air.

Clench.

Pain.

Relax.

She stopped when she reached her house.  The living room light was on.  Her parents were waiting for her.

Fuck.

She had known it was a long shot to hope they had already gone to bed, but she had still hoped.

She took a deep breath and walked into the house.

Her parents were on her in an instant.  Their anger dissipated into concern as they approached her.  Her mother stepped close, gently turning Maggie’s head to get a better look at the scrapes and bruising across her jaw.

Maggie stared at the wall, unwilling, unable to meet her father’s gaze.  She kept her hands fisted as her mother led her to the couch, made her sit, and sat next to her.  The other injuries could be explained away.  As long as she kept the blisters hidden, she might be able to hide the truth.

“What happened, filhinha?” her mother asked, prodding lightly at the bruising around a cut.

Maggie glanced at her father before replying.  He stood a few feet back, arms crossed and tensed.

“I fell,” she said, trying to force a smile.  “Can I just go to my room?”

Her mother raised an eyebrow.  Maggie’s fake smile fell instantly.  “You did not fall.”

“I did.  I tripped running down the bleachers.”

“Don’t lie to us,” her father cut in.  “Who did this to you?”

Her mother cupped her uninjured cheek and pulled Maggie’s gaze to her.  The look in her mother’s eyes made Maggie’s stomach clench.

“Did they…”she trailed off, but Maggie knew exactly what she was asking.

She had been terrified when she had been cornered, had found every escape route blocked by a boy a head taller and at least fifty pounds heavier.  She had been sure that they would all have their way with her, and had actually felt a bit of relief when they had just beat the shit out of her and locked her in the school equipment shed.

She couldn’t let her mother think that.  She had to hear for herself, out loud, that it hadn’t happened.

“No,” she said.  “They didn’t.”

Her mother closed her eyes and let out a small breath.

“Who did this to you, Maggie?” her father demanded.

Maggie finally met his eyes.  They were hard, but full of concern.

“Some… some kids from school,” she said.  “I didn’t see who.”

She had.  She knew who each one was.  The look her father gave her said that he didn’t believe her.

“Why did they do this?” her mother asked.

She had a list of reasons to give.  She had been thinking of them from the moment they had locked her in that shed.

“Because she’s a dyke.”

The entire world dulled.  The taunts that still echoed in her ears grew stronger.

Maggie watched as her mother took in her sister’s words, watched the concern flick through confusion, and fear, and anger, before going blank.  Maggie fought back dry sobs as her mother stared at her, any and all tears had dried up as the temperature had passed one hundred degrees.

“Is it true, Margaret?”

She couldn’t breathe.  Her heart pounded in her ears, but she couldn’t draw in a breath.  Her hands shook at her sides.

“Margarida Leonor, is it true?”

The tense tone in her mother’s voice using her full name hit her in the gut, forcing her to pull in a breath.  How could she answer when she had barely admitted the truth to herself?

“It’s all anyone’s talking about,” Sofia continued.  “The girls on the team won’t even let me change in the locker room, in case I got the gay gene too.”

Maggie lowered her head, dropping her mother’s gaze.  She clenched her fists.  She deserved the pain.  God, she deserved it.

She wanted to say something, to defend herself, to beg, to apologize, to tell them that she had spent so long trying to ignore it, to fight it, but her throat was tight, and she knew that if she spoke, more sobs than words would come out.  So, she focused on the pain in her leg, in her hands, and tried to stop her jaw from quivering.

“Go to your room, Sofia.”

Maggie flinched at the sound of her father’s voice.

Sophie scoffed.  “I’m in trouble?  She’s a dyke and I’m in trouble?”

“Go.”

Maggie barely heard Sophie’s huff over the noise she made as she stomped away.  Silence fell over the room.  Her mother still sat next to her her, but all contact was gone.  Her father was pacing, by the way his footsteps changed as he walked on and off the rug.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” he finally asked.

Maggie shook her head.  She deserved this.  She deserved it.

“Good,” he said.  “That’s good.”  He sighed.  “Why don’t you go wash up and get to bed.  We’ll figure out a way to fix this tomorrow.”

Maggie nodded.  They’d fix it, fix her.

She stood, stumbling slightly as dizziness combined with the pain in her leg.  She finally looked at her father.  His disappointed expression hit deep.

“I’m sorry,” she forced out.

He nodded.  “It’ll be alright.”

She took his words and bundled them into a kernel of hope.

The house blurred as Maggie limped to her room, more grateful than ever that her room was on the ground floor.

She sat on the edge of her bed, hands in her lap, and stared at the wall.  Her sister’s voice echoed in her head.

Dyke.  Dyke.  Carpet muncher.  Lezbo.  Dyke.

God, what the fuck was wrong with her?  Why did she have to be so fucked up?  Maybe she should have just stayed in that shed, let the heat take her.

Dyke.  Dyke.  Dyke.  Butch fag dyke.

“…pened to your hands?  Maggie?”

She blinked.  She turned her head slightly.  Robbie was there.

“What happened to your hands?” he asked, taking a step towards her.

She looked at her hands.  Her palms were raw.  A few fingers were turning purple and would do no more than twitch when she tried to move them.

“Oh.”  She looked back at him, and mumbled something as the world blacked out.

—

Maggie picked at the tape holding the IV tube in place.  It was too tight, pulling at her skin.  The sun was beginning to shine through the window, sending a glare off of the TV.

Low voices spoke just outside her door.  Maggie was torn between wanting to hear every word of the conversation, and blocking the entire world out completely.

Before she could make up her mind, the door opened and closed.  She looked up to watch her mother walk to the side of her bed and sit in one of the chairs.  She stared straight ahead, at the door hinges on the opposite wall.

“That was the sheriff,” her mother started.  Her voice was the soft murmur that used to put her to sleep at night.  “The city will not charge you with vandalism and destruction of property-”  she took a deep breath “-as long as we promise to not push for charges against the boys who attacked you.”

Maggie stared at the hinges.  The sheriff’s son had been there.  He had slammed her fingers in the door.

“I’m sorry.”  She forced the words out, a gasping whisper.

For being gay.  For being a sin.  For fucking up.  For not being perfect.

Her mother sighed.  “Your father and I spoke, and we think it would be best if you spend the rest of the summer with your prozia in Italy, perhaps even for part of the school year.”

Maggie clenched her jaw to keep it from trembling.  They were sending her away - sending her to a relative she had never met, in a country she had never been to.

“We do not want these boys to have another chance to hurt you, piccola, and your prozia is a good woman.”  Her mother wrapped her hands around hers, the contact light around Maggie’s bandages.  “We may not understand this part of you, and we may not agree with it, but you are our daughter, and if it is really a part of you, we will learn.”

Maggie turned to look at her.  Her face was soft with worry, even with the anger beneath.  She nodded.

“You are still my bambino, sì?”

Maggie nodded.  She blinked back the tears building up.  “Sì, Mamma.”

Her mother smiled, moving one of her hands up to cup Maggie’s cheek.  “We will get through this.  You will get through this.”

Maggie stretched towards her, leaning her head against her shoulder and wrapping an arm around her neck.

“Ti amo,” she murmured into her shirt.

Her mother chuckled.  “Ti amo, piccola.”

**Author's Note:**

> A few things:
> 
> I will never get over it if nothing in the backstory they (hopefully) give Maggie on the show relates to her backstory in the comics. She has such a rich history, it would be a disservice to not use it.
> 
> In the show, I believe Maggie said that her family eventually was okay with it, so I tried to combine the two canons - comic and show. It wasn't my intent when I started this months ago, but I think it shows that it is possible to bring the canons together, to still have Maggie be Maggie.
> 
> Her father will take longer to accept it than her mother.
> 
> When I started this, I headcanon'd Maggie as part Brazilian, part Italian. I still kind of do, but it isn't as defined. That's why they speak Italian at the end.
> 
> I also totally see her prozia (great-aunt) as a lesbian, only she married her male best friend - who was gay. Their respective partners also married. Maggie's time it Italy ends up being a major part of her accepting herself, and getting through the self-hate she has in this fic.
> 
> This is the comic panel:  
> 


End file.
